Poems by Benjamin Vines

Poems by Benjamin Vines

DELIGHT

This light is not bright, not as bright as I like it to be. Let me open the shades so I can see more of what is around me. And what of this show of the light which can be placed upon my space? Seeps into my hall of life… Where darkness prevails, we can lay in our beds like beached whales. Candle light, daylight, artificial light. Shining, spreading, providing warmth and much delight. Starlight, star bright—most of the time the blinds shut tight. Lying in my berth, embracing the dark of rest I wake up to be my best. So these words on the concern of my delight— strung along as a rope or telephone cord— are the moonlight, daylight, nightlight, starlight of my soul’s delight.

ACTING LIKE A TREE

I’m standing there just looking at me. Looking in the mirror, my clothes just hanging off me as if I were some tree. The first official day of winter is arriving— Winter is on my doorstep, spring is in my heart. Christmas trees, Christmas parties, Christmas time, Christmas dinner. Music being heard over this joyous yuletide herd. A tree is a tree even when there’s no one climbing it. A tree that grows in Brooklyn is bending so slightly. Covered in snow that may turn into ice perhaps. After, we are speaking about a phone tree, the tree of life, the learning tree. Or maybe the tree of the season. So, as I leave my tree house, I remember I’m supposed to be acting like a tree.

I AM WAITING

I am waiting for my number to be up. And I’m waiting for the rebirth of a nation. I am waiting for anyone to really discover time and wail. And I am waiting for the discovery of a new symbolic medical frontier. I am waiting for the American flag to really fly for all, and I am waiting for the Age of Aquarius to drop dead. With everything being what it is, if I recall, weight broke the wagon down. I’m remembering that I left the bus stop because of the anxiety of waiting upon its arrival. As it passed me by, I just withered away. If I only would’ve stayed in the waiting room… I’m perpetually saying to myself, “Stay in the waiting.”

FOR MY SISTER, WHO IS LONG GONE I think of you from time to time And how we didn’t spend a lot of time. Not your fault—more than likely mine. I think since Red Hawk put you in my mind, I’m writing about you to you. I’m writing in this discerning way because I’m reading a poem about domestic violence. The father is crazy drunk and hands-on abusive. Your death occurred after our father’s, but what a shock that I just didn’t make a time to pull the boat into the dock. Love you much—can’t always give time time.

NIGHTS OVER EGYPT

Down the up Nile. Looking past Pharaoh’s smile. Trekking thru the Valley of the Kings. Seeking a cure for this dreaded disease of HIV/AIDS. Night in and night out in the pyramids of research. We seek the exodus of long human suffering that brings fulfillment alongside that of the boy king Tutankhamen, for the Sphinx is a light in the night that always sits upright.